


Scurry Away

by jedi_bitch



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female pronouns, Male recieveing oral sex, Padawan Reader, Reader Insert, Reader gets a concussion, Reader gets thrown around, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, This is trash, Vaginal Fingering, jedi!reader, rough, sorry everyone in my life lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_bitch/pseuds/jedi_bitch
Summary: Reader is sent to sabotage the warship commanded by General Grievous. In an unfortunate turn of events, Reader gets caught.
Relationships: General Grievous/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags with this one, lads.  
> I love this big awful man, and he is not nice  
> This is a practice before my Obi-Wan/Reader story that'll be a few chapters, so keep an eye out.  
> Anywho, check out jedi-bitch.tumblr.com for more. Taking requests ;)

All that was left to do was deactivate one generator. That’s it. That would shut down the warship’s shield.

You had scurried around the entirety of the droid warship, ticking off the tasks assigned to you by your master and the council. Your first mission without Master Kenobi, you feared it would be your last as well. However, a small, light-footed jedi was needed for this, and you fit the role perfectly.

Your wrist felt funny, being bare. Usually, your communication device was strapped around your arm. Droids could pick up the interference of any devices, so you didn’t bring it.

It wasn’t the droids you were afraid of, though.

You could _sense_ that you were the only organic on board.

Well, there was a whisper of another within the force, but it was so muted, you could hardly tell. You weren’t even sure if it was a living thing, and not just a ghost in the back of your head.

You tried keeping yourself calm, and for the most part, you did, but something gave you the chills in the deepest part of you. It must be the droids, you tell yourself, you’re usually surrounded by the warmth of living things.

Luckily for you, though, droids weren’t too bright, and your nerves didn’t affect you too much. You could throw a spare part across the room, and instead of looking for who threw it, they looked for the part.

The last generator that needed to be taken down was just behind the door across the hall. It seemed almost too easy. The chill in your bones got colder. You paused, trying to see what was to come, stretching out your consciousness. But before you could even close your eyes, you heard the metallic foot falls of droids, about to turn the corner.

In a quick-thinking panic, you silently bolted down the hall, and opened the door, pressing your hand against the scanner. As soon as you passed the threshold, you turned around and pressed the button to close the sliding doors.

You felt safe for a moment. You rested your forehead against the cold blast shield door, taking a quiet breath, and slowly collecting yourself.

As you exhaled, however, you felt that whisper in your ear. A muted life force, tugging at your perception.

The light above the door turned red, not flashing, not urgent, just red.

 _Locked_.

You felt your heart drop. You felt like a fool, like an idiot, for rushing into things. You instinctually reach for your communicator, but your wrist is bare. Then, you moved for your weapon, resting on the hilt of your lightsaber.

You would be fine, right? As long as you kept your wits about you and stopped focusing so much on the rapid beating of your heart. Yes, stop thinking about it, you reminded yourself.

Maybe if you stayed perfectly still, time would freeze, and you could think for as long as you needed. Your legs wouldn’t budge. You needed to _think_!

From behind you, a warped, metallic laugh pulled you from your self-pity. The sound of sharp talons clinking against the floor sent goosebumps down your arms.

The laughing turned into a slight coughing fit, still inhuman sounding. It caught it’s breath. “Ah, there is my little mouse.” His words sounded like metal scrapping against itself. It was loud in your ears, reverberating through the small room, “I was beginning to fear that you had smartened up and crawled back to your master.”

You didn’t want to turn around. You knew General Grievous was aboard, but you thought you had been careful enough not to draw his attention.

“Let’s see your face, mouse,” He was mocking you. His raspy laugh was bouncing around your skull. “Or are you too frightened?”

You took another deep breath, but it hitched in your throat. He was walking towards you, his talons softly tapping the ground. Your time to ignore him and think was running short. You had to turn around.

With the bravest face you could muster, you quickly spun around, hand resting on the hilt of your lightsaber. “General.” It was a statement, an acknowledgement of his presence. As you began processing the figure in front of you, your stomach dropped. He was closer than you thought, _taller_ than you thought.

You felt so small.

You swallowed dryly, slowly tilting your head upwards. In front of you stood a metal beast, hunched and covered by a cape. For a moment, you just stared at each other, you tried to keep your body from showing any sign of fear.

He was tall, but then he rolled his neck, and straightened his spine. His shoulders rolled back, puffing his chest plate out. He now stood over 2 feet above you. Even though his face was a mask, you felt like he was scowling at you.

He chuckled darkly, “Well?”

You stood your ground, quickly trying to calculate your next move.

In half a second, you had drawn your lightsaber, the blade lighting up the dark room, and you swung, aiming to slice through the General’s center.

Your blade is met with a resistance you weren’t expecting. A second lightsaber was pressed against yours. Where did he get that? You decided you didn’t want to think about that.

Before you could make another move, metal fingers wrapped around your neck, slamming you into the wall behind you. It hurt. It felt as though your skull had been hollowed out and your remaining thoughts were slamming against the inside of your head. You could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness, but you managed to resist.

The lightsaber was knocked from your hand, clattering on the floor before sliding across the room. Your eyes swam in your skull, and you couldn’t tell up from down. You hit your head so hard, that even through the force, you were having a hard time finding your sacred weapon.

One of your hands instinctually reached for the claws around your throat, while the other reached out for your weapon, desperately searching through the static surrounding your brain.

“No, no,” General Grievous’s voice was so harsh you could feel the hatred rolling off of him, “No more games, _padawan_.”

His hand around your neck tightened. Your arm was shaking as you reached out, focusing harder. You were so close, you could feel the space that your lightsaber took in the room.

Just as you felt you were about to draw your weapon to you, both of your arms were grabbed, now held tightly in place against the wall. You were choking, your head was spinning, and you couldn’t find your only chance of defending yourself. You felt weak. You _were_ weak, and shaking, and shivering.

“ _Fuck_!” You screamed, as loud as you could through your tight throat, with the last of your breath. It was hardly even a whimper.

You struggled as much as you could. You could not free your wrists or throat, but you kicked out your legs, in a desperate vie for freedom.

The black edges on your vision started to close in, before the grip around your neck loosened just enough to let some blood finally flow to your brain. You felt a harsh slap to your cheek. Your head bobbed forward and back, unfocused. “Stay with me, _jedi_.” He was laughing, “You don’t want to miss the fun, do you?”

You couldn’t put words together in your head. You would have worried that you didn’t remember where you are, but you didn’t think you were anywhere.

“Now, be a good little mouse and sit still for me.” He held you still, by the neck, so that you were at eye level with him. He had such hatred in his eyes. His eyes… you felt like his eyes were stabbing into your lungs.

Your wrists were held tightly, and they were both pulled above your head. He was using a single hand to keep them both in place. The grip was bruising. You tried to look up, to see your own hands, to make sure they were still attached to you. Your eyes just rolled into the back of your head, before you snapped forward again.

You felt something cold and sharp running down your sides. “I’ve always been partial to the little robes you jedi wear. Some of you shouldn’t even bother with them; they leave little to the imagination.” One of his claws dug into your side. You thought he was trying to break your skin, but when the fabric ripped, he stopped pressing, and swiped downward, tearing the garment beyond repair.

“Please,” you commanded breathlessly. It was not very intimidating. It was a squeak.

He didn’t respond. Just chuckled deep in what you can only imagine was his chest. Clawed hands placed themselves on either of your breasts. He pressed his talons into your skin, hard. You felt yourself slipping away again.

And again, the grip around your throat loosened. Your lungs filled themselves as much as they could, as your lost the ability to hold your head up. Your eyelids fluttered out of synch as you tried to focus them. At this point, your head was so foggy, that you just wished he’d let you pass out.

“Very good, jedi,” He praised, as you finally felt his claws break the skin on your breasts. Just enough to leave small puncture wounds. He let the blood slowly bead at the new marks, and dragged his talons down your sides, leaving shallow cuts.

You bit your tongue, trying to regain control of the situation. But, your brain and your body were not working together right now. The force felt just out of reach. You just wanted to sleep.

His fourth hand had no trouble ripping the leather belt around your waist and slithering its way into the front of your pants and undergarments. He wasted no time in running his metal fingers across your slit.

He pulled his fingers away, lifting them up to your face. He examined them, the wetness shining in the low light, “It seems your body betrays you,” He laughed to himself, as he sent his hand back down your pants. His hands continued to scratch your skin, fondling your supple flesh, while he worked two talons into your cunt.

You felt your mind slipping away again, and you almost began to cry. You were so dizzy. “Please,” you managed, “I… need… air.”

General Grievous’s demeanor changed in an instant. He shoved his fingers into you, so hard that it hurt, as he spoke, almost as if to highlight his words, “ _I_ decide when you breath, _padawan_. _I_ decide when you move and when you cry and when you come. Do you understand?” He was thrusting his fingers at a pace far from pleasurable. His talons reached so deep inside of you that you felt the tips of his claws poking at your cervix.

You knew he wanted a response. You nodded and strangled out, “Yes.”

He let up. His grip was much looser on your neck now, and the blood that began rushing to your head blurred your eyes and made your ears hot.

General Grievous hummed, which was something that sounded like warbled microphone feedback.

He paused, looking you up and down. His fingers moving inside you slowed and softened in their movements. It started to actually feel nice. His face lowered to rest at your neck, right next to your ear. You could hear his labored breathing and soft groans.

You felt yourself getting wetter, as he finds the perfect spot to stroke within you, and another finger lightly circling your clit. You actually started drooling (though, that might be due to the concussion you clearly have).

“General,” A regular droid’s voice shouted from behind the door, “We’re being engaged.” He paused, thinking, “We need you at command, sir.”

General Grievous growled right in your ear. A primal sound you didn’t think this more-metal-than-man creature was capable of making.

“Well,” He started to fix your pants, releasing your throat. Your head dropped forward at the lack of support. “Looks like our fun has been cut short.” He released both your wrists, letting you crumple to the ground at his knees. He looks down at you, “If you feel the need to return, I would be glad to continue your lesson, _jedi scum_.” The door opened, and he stepped over you, grabbing one of his droids by the arm, “Put her in an escape pod and get her out of here.”

“Roger, roger,” Two droids grabbed you by the arms. Your head was still bobbing, and the black spots in your vision kept dancing.

Now, you’re being shot into space, in the middle of ship to ship combat.

You manage to press enough of the right buttons to send a signal to your fellow Jedi, and then you let yourself fall asleep, wondering if resting was a good idea or not.

The next thing you know, you open your eyes, and Master Kenobi is staring down at you. “Padawan, what happened? You must wake up.”

Your being shaken, a soft hand on your shoulder. You blinked, unsure of what to say.

“He found me.” You said, rubbing your forehead. You started to sit up. “Beat the hell out of me, is all.”

“Looks like it,” Obi-wan brushed some hair out of your face, revealing your bruised neck and pink face. “Well, your safe now, padawan. I was foolish to send you on your own at a time like this.” He considered for a moment, “I am impressed how you managed to survive. It must have been difficult without your lightsaber.”

Shit. He had your lightsaber. “He… he kept it, I think.” You nodded, slowly convincing yourself of something you believed anyway. “I… I’ll get it back.”

“Yes, well, for now you need medical attention. I think you’ve suffered quite the concussion, padawan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader tries to get her lightsaber back. It doesn't go quite how she planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really pay attention to the tags on this one, lads.  
> This is some straight up garbage. I may write more chapters, for a happier ending, but only if it seems like people are interested.  
> Apparently, there aren't that many grievous hoes out there, so I dunno man, maybe /we're/ the weird ones, huh?  
> Anyway, requests are open at jedi-bitch.tumblr.com

It took about two weeks to recover fully from your head injury. You hadn’t felt it in the moment, but your skull had fractured from the force that Grievous had used to slam you into the wall. It healed faster with the help of your masters, and some old medicinal techniques the jedi had held onto.

It still hurt like hell, though. A never-ending migraine, you thought, until about a week in, when you started finding that your head didn’t hurt nearly as much when you in the dark.

For the first few days, you couldn’t remember much. You were mostly unconscious. But the soft, childish dreams you started having twisted into lucid fear and cold metal. Something deep inside you desired… something, but you didn’t know what.

Then you could see his face- or mask. Now you remembered. It all came back to you in a single moment, your breath catching in your throat. Your mind kept repeating “ _if you feel the need to return_ ”. You did, desperately. Your blood pressure rose, before you calmed yourself through meditation.

The dark infirmary became your home for those two weeks. Everyone kept asking if you were ok. You were alive and on the mend, you would tell them, eventually losing the patience to sound happy to answer.

The older Jedi saw through you, though. _Something_ had happened to you, other than your head injury. None of them pried into your head further though, out of respect, hoping you would come to them.

Obi-wan made it very clear that you could tell him anything.

“I… I don’t know, nothing, really.” You after the tenth time he’s asked you, “I just don’t remember.”

He knew you were lying, “Alright, padawan, I apologize,” He looked to his hands, thinking for a moment, “Once you’re given the go-ahead, we can get started on a new lightsaber. It’s really no trouble. _Anakin_ has lost his more times than I can count.” He was always so cheery, it almost rubbed off on you.

It didn’t, though.

“What? He didn’t break it.” You stated, furrowing your brow, “I just have to get it back.”

Obi-wan sighed, “My dear, I don’t think that would be wise.” He placed a hand over the healing bruise on your shoulder.

“No,” You shook your head, looking up at your teacher, “I… I think I need to, master. It feels… I don’t know but I just think I have to.” You felt the force that connected you to Obi-wan. You knew he felt what you were talking about.

He stroked his beard, focusing on the energy that you shared. He sighed loudly, “Very well, padawan. If you are _sure_ , I will allow it.” He stood, turning to face you, “But I want you to _really_ think about it. You need to meditate, young one. Then, if you can still say you must, I will help you.”

You smiled at Obi-wan, “Of course, master. Thank you.” You bowed your head to him, and he gave a small nod in response, before leaving you to consider.

For a while, you genuinely considered if your feelings were right. After the first two days of meditation, though, you had made your decision. Was it based on your feelings of anger and fear? Maybe a bit, but there was something in the back of your head, too. You told your master it was something in the force that was pushing you.

And so, Obi-wan helped you. He found out that Grievous would be traveling to a separatist base in a much smaller transport ship, made for only a few passengers. It would be Grievous, three battle droids, and a single T-1.

Now, you found yourself hidden in the privy, the ship obviously meant for moving people. You wondered for a minute about Grievous. Did he ever need a washroom? Did he even need to eat or drink or bathe? You shook your head, first hoping that he didn’t, then convincing yourself it didn’t matter.

With a deep breath, you let the door slide open. Two of the battle droids were standing by some crates, chatting with each other.

“Hey, did you hear that?” One of them asks.

“It was probably just the engine or something.” The same robotic voice responded.

Their backs were turned to you, as you stepped over the threshold, into the cargo hold.

You took in a deep breath, allowing the force to flow in and out of you freely. Focusing, you scrunched your fist. The head of one of the droids collapsed in on itself with no more than the sound of metal scraping against itself. Still holding the dead droid in your mental grasp, you flicked your hand, crashing the scrap into the other. It was thrown into the wall, and deactivated.

That wasn’t something you had been able to do before. It made you nervous, as you felt a dark whispering in the back of your head for just a moment. You could hardly hear it, but you felt it deep in your bones. You pushed it away.

From behind the sliding door to the cockpit, you heard the chilling voice of the General. It rasped, coughing intermittently through the sentence, “Droid, go tell your comrades… to fix whatever they just broke.”

The door slide open, and out walked the third battle droid. It stopped when it’s visual processors landed on you.

You must have looked a wild animal, your eyes focused and predatory, fire dancing in your skull behind them. You held a fighting stance, one that was stable and balanced, your hands ready to throw.

“Uh, General?” The droid nervously called, pointing it’s gun at you.

“What?” He sounded annoyed, “What is it, droid?”

“There’s, uh…,” You held a finger to your lips, “There’s someone-,” You flicked your wrist, flinging the poor droid into a stack of crates. They toppled onto him, and you heard the sound of it shutting down.

The sound of sharp pieces of metal clicking against the arm of a chair matched the beating of your heart. You were surprisingly calm. Grievous wasn’t even turning around, “ _What is it, droid_?” He asked again, even less patience in his tone than before.

You quietly stepped to the cockpit door, just watching for a few seconds. Grievous was in the pilot’s seat, the T-1 next to him, plugged in and plotting the course.

“It’s me, sleemo.” You growled, lifting the T-1 from its seat, and throwing it into General Grievous as he turned around.

The droid hit his shoulder and neck, hardly affecting him as he threw it over his shoulder. It hit the wall and turned off. General Grievous stood to his full height, filling your throat with cotton. You stood your ground, “Well, well, my little mouse has returned to her true master.” He opened his arms, almost welcoming you.

“You have something that belongs to _me_.” Your started shifting your weight, ready to move at any shift in the air. “Give it _back_.” You were shouting, you realized.

One of his hands reaches towards his hip, and unlatches on of the lightsabers attached to him, “Is this what you are looking for, _little one_?” He holds your lightsaber in between his claws. He pretends to examine it, but you know his eyes remain on you.

You grabbed it through the force. You could feel your fingers wrapped around the familiar metal. All you had to do was pull it closer.

In a swift move, you pulled your arm back, yanking at the lightsaber. It pulled Grievous forward just a bit, but his grip was too strong.

Your arms tingled as you kept pulling, over and over. Nothing was working. You cried out in frustration, relentlessly punching towards and back through the force.

“Stupid girl,” His eyes narrowed beneath his mask, “All you have to do is come and take it.” He held it out, still clasped in an iron grip.

Your mind was starting to feel clouded. Your head felt filled with red smoke. You took a deep breath, and another. Your eyes unblinking, glued to the imposing figure.

Maybe you _were_ stupid, you thought as you took a cautious step forward, trying to remember to just _breathe._ Looking at him made your blood boil.

You continued to walk towards him. He showed no signs of moving, holding his position motionlessly.

You were closer than you would care to be, but you reach your arm out, every sense on high alert, until finally, your actual hand felt your actual lightsaber.

As soon as you grabbed it, Grievous pulled his hand back, “On second, thought,” He chuckled before coughing. He pulled you onto your toes, leaning against his chest plate, “You should show me how badly you want it back, _padawan_.” He spoke so clearly through such a rough voice.

You were _definitely_ stupid. Your emotions were clouding your judgement, but you were _not_ letting go of your weapon. “I’m not playing your fucking game. Give it to me, you fucking Sep.”

You felt his chest rumble against you. He was laughing at you, “Such vitriol for someone so foolish.” He lifted you higher up, still holding your lightsaber, your feet dangled off the ground, “You know nothing, _youngling_.” He punched you in the stomach with his free hand.

You cried out as the air was pushed out of your lungs, reaching for your abdomen, gritting your teeth. He just laughed himself into a coughing fit as you struggled.

“Its time you learn who you will live to serve.” His face gave no indication of emotion, but you could hear the scowl in his voice, and the anger in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

He dropped your lightsaber, and you fell to your knees, collapsing on the ground. You took a moment too long to find your footing, though. Your wrist was being crushed between metal talons, pressing your arm to the ground. The claws that made his foot was placing all of his weight onto your hand.

You cried out in pain, but mostly frustration and anger. You felt a sickening snap somewhere in your arm, and you could no longer hold the lightsaber. Your fingers stretched out and tensed in pain as he released your arm, kicking your lightsaber to the side.

Your arm was definitely broken. A surge of hormones ran through your blood, and you couldn’t feel your arm anymore. You also couldn’t feel your fingers, but, numb was better than pain at a time like this.

Grievous knelt down, running his sharp fingers through your hair and down your scalp. It felt like an awful head message, and you shudder, instinctually protecting your neck.

Your lungs were working against you. Your breath was shallow and loud.

“Come, now, padawan,” He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling your face closer to his. You could see your hot breath forming on his mask, fogging up the lower half, “Be good, we have an audience.”

“What are talking about?” You hissed without thinking. You deactivated all the droids aboard, you were sure.

“I’ve got something new for you,” He stood up straight again, still holding your hair like a handle. He pressed a hidden button on his wrist, before pulling your face to his pelvis, “Stop speaking, just open your mouth, padawan.”

The front of his pelvic plate gently opened, and _something_ slowly emerged, pressing against your cheek. It was a white phallus, incredibly smooth, but cold.

You opened your mouth to protest, maybe to beg, but as you took a breath, your head was pulled back, and then down, as he shoved the phallus down your throat.

“I said quiet,” He reminded you, pulling you close until your nose hit the top edge of his pelvic plating, “Just relax, padawan. Enjoy it.” He laughed darkly, and you could fell the vibrations down your throat. You whimpered around him.

He pulled you off just enough for you to get a real breath, before you were choking again.

Grievous started slowly sliding you up and down his cock, until he started growling with each thrust of your face. The sound was familiar. The same visceral sound that you didn’t think he could physically make from your last meeting with him.

He picked up the pace, his hand tightening in your hair. You couldn’t help the sounds you were making, and the drool that was dripping down your chin. The palm of your good hand was pressed against the plate of his thigh, trying to resist with the strength you had left. You other arm was limp at your side. It felt useless.

“That’s right, mouse,” He praised, “Just submit to me.” His head fell back as he used you. “Do as you’re told, and you’ll get you little lightsaber back.”

Your lightsaber. You had forgotten about it. Where even was it?

You felt a slap against your hollowed cheek, “Pay attention.” One hand grabbed the wrist of your good hand, “Doesn’t it feel good, to be a mindless little puppet?”

_Yes_ , your brain responded immediately. _Wait, no_ , you corrected. _Maybe? You felt your mind slipping away._

“I am going to fucking _ruin_ you, jedi _scum_.” His thrusts into your throat were as harsh as they could get. Your mind was turning off.

Another voice, masked by static caught your attention, “Don’t…,” You couldn’t understand the next few words, “…throat. Make her wear it.”

Grievous gave a deep groan, seemingly involuntary. The pain in your broken arm was coming back as you started to feel like a broken doll, letting all of this happen.

Suddenly, you are harshly pulled off of his cock, and thrown back onto the ground. Grievous was stroking himself over you, before his harsh breath cut through the blood pounding in your ears. He spilled his seed over your face and chest, leaving thick dark spots on your new robes.

It felt different, than the real thing, you thought. Smoother, was the only word you could think of, as it rolled down over your split lips. They tingled, feeling swollen and used.

You felt any strength you might have had leave you, when Grievous’s full weight came down onto your lightsaber, crushing it beneath his foot.

“Good,” The voice you heard earlier praised, “Now, bring her to me. I have a great many uses for a broken jedi.” Was that… Dooku’s voice? You’d recognize it anywhere, especially since he betrayed the jedi order.

Grievous hummed in consideration, “I am not so sure, my lord.”

“Bring her to me, and you shall be rewarded greatly, General. She won’t be going anywhere for quite a while.” Count Dooku said this as if it wasn’t your life he was talking about.

“Very well, then.” He kicked you away lightly, leaving you on the ground as you continued to catch your breath. You shivered, looking at the broken pieces of the lightsaber you thought you could take back. You really were foolish, you decided, as you pulled your broken arm to your chest. Grievous sat back in the pilot’s seat, “Once Dooku is finished with you, you’ll be begging for me to come rescue you, my little mouse.”


End file.
